


A Study in Pink

by ThetaWolfe



Series: Our Souls [1]
Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, F/M, M/M, Pre-Slash, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-17 18:20:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3539351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThetaWolfe/pseuds/ThetaWolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>War vet Dr. John Watson and Kato return to London in need of a place to stay. They meet Sherlock Holmes and Atalanta, and soon find themselves digging into a string of serial "suicides."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Robert Watson and Marah

When Bobby and Marah were young they wanted to be astronauts, superheroes, or pirates.  It was their dream to be somebody strong, amazing, and adventurous.  As with all children, they honestly wanted to just be _somebody_.  Somebody others looked up too, somebody who was successful…somebody who definitely were not _exactly like_ their parents.

In most of their games, Marah would take on smaller forms to be able to fit in pockets and tiny spaces.  Normally she would take on the form of a mouse or gerbil, but sometimes she would be more creative.  One of her favorites was a Sugar Glider, but Bobby never liked anyone to see her in such a form.  It was ‘too cute and girly’ he told her.  But secretly he loved her more when she took the shapes of cute animals, and though they both knew it, neither was willing to admit.  Other times she would be big and fierce as they play fought with the neighbors.  

In the games Marah would be a dog in one form or another.  When asked, she would only say that she felt most comfortable as a canine, or some other shape that allowed her to have all feet on the ground.  While imaginative, Marah never took the form of a bird, bat, or anything with wings as she was afraid of heights.

No one was surprised when she settled as an English Springer Spaniel.  The Watson family had always had canine dæmons, aside from the occasional fox (and the estranged Great Uncle Charlus Watson who no one talked about as his dæmon settled as a wolf).  It was unseemly and never discussed in polite company. 

Although it is not always the case, those who’s dæmons settled as a wolf usually experienced a deep trauma, a twisted childhood, or were found lacking in the emotional and moral areas of the brain.  Charlus was none of those, he was only eccentric, and both he and his dæmon loved the attention.

Most people viewed those with dog dæmons in two ways: the bigger, fiercer hound was met with caution for they - and their humans – were commonly military, police, or government.  As for those whose dæmons settled in the form of a gentler breed were typically part of the serving class.  Though it was considered an old world view, it was nearly impossible to ignore the ingrained instinctual reaction to someone’s dæmon.  And even when considered part of the serving class, Bobby was content with life and proud that his dæmon settled as a dog.

At twenty-two, he married the love of his life, Katelyn O’Connely, an Irish lass from Acton.  Marah was absolutely besotted with her African Swallow dæmon, Varro.  They settled in Bobby’s family farm house in Studland, Dorset and started their own family.

When little Harriett and Titus were born, Bobby thought himself the luckiest man alive.  The birth was long and complicated.  Bobby and Marah paced the halls for hours as Katelyn screamed and Varro cursed at the doctors’ dæmons like a sailor.  After eleven hours of labor finally the room went silent before a baby’s wail broke the quiet.  When he rushed into the birthing room, Harriet was the only thing he saw.

She was a tiny thing, eyes bright green and golden hair.  Titus was a curious little dæmon, always getting into places where he needed to be rescued.  But all the same, they were well loved, and if Katelyn encouraged them to be a little more bold and adventurous…well, Marah was good at rescuing dæmons.

 He showered his princess with gifts and spoiled her rotten.  She was the perfect daughter, and when she was four, her brother was brought into the world.  Compared to Harriett’s birth, Katelyn could almost say John’s was boring.

Katelyn’s water broke in October exactly on the day they were expecting, and Bobby packed up his wife and daughter into the truck and drove to the hospital.  John Hamish Watson was born right on time, with little fuss and no drama at all.  It was rather unremarkable, but Katelyn glowed all the same as she presented her husband with their first born son.

Bobby cradled John close to himself as he crouched down so Marah, Harriett, and Titus could see.  Harriett screwed up her button nose as Marah nudged the infant naked mole rat dæmon.  It bleated pitifully before burrowing closer to its human.

“Look, Harriett,” Bobby called softly as he smiled at his daughter.  “It’s your baby brother.”

Harriett scrutinized her ‘brother’ as Titus leaned closer, long nimble fingers poking at the baby’s dæmon as the monkey inspected it.  “Is it supposed to look that way?” She questioned innocently and Bobby chuckled softly at her.

“’He’, little princess, and yes, babies normally look this way.”

Harriett’s expression clearly stated that she was not impressed, but her attention was quickly pulled away as Titus yanked at her hair.  “Harry, Harry look,” the Macaque pointed at the baby.

“What, Titus?”

“Its dæmon,” the little monkey shifted into a ferret in its excitement.  “It’s male!”

*          *          *          *          *

When Harriett was twelve, her dæmon settled as a Robin.  Though disappointed, Bobby was not at all surprised.  His princess was simply too much like her mother to be anything other than a bird.  Light and carefree, jubilant and flitting, just like a bird.  If he was being honest with himself, he knew long before the settling that Titus was fit to have wings. 

John on the other hand at eight years old was much like his dear old dad.  If Bobby had known how much the next few months would have changed his son, his family, he would have never taken the promotion.  As it was there had not been a witch in his family in over seventeen generations, and Bobby could not see the future.

Two weeks after Titus settled, Bobby accepted the promotion and relocated his family to Venezuela.  It was a beautiful country full of life and culture.  Overseeing the plans to map the new railway system while taking into account ground stability, economic differences, and protected forest lands took much of his attention, leaving him little time for his family.

Harriett and John joined a nearby school and Bobby could not have been more proud.  Though they were behind do to the language barrier, Katelyn took the four month relocation period to tutor them in Spanish instead of finding a job.  Becoming a stay at home mom was less of a vacation than she thought, but her and Varro loved it all the same.

The trip went well for just over a month and then disaster struck.

Bobby and Marah could remember it as if it were yesterday.  It had been a Friday and Bobby had taken the day off to be with his family as he saw so little of them lately.  After much deliberation, it was decided that they were going to be classic vacationers and join a guided tour with twenty other foreigners through a small protected section of the Amazon Rainforest.

The storm that had caught them by surprise had come out of nowhere, and in seconds Harriett and John were obscured behind a thick downpour of rain.

The children had been ahead of the group, giggling as John’s dæmon, Kato, entertained them by shifting forms.  Katelyn smiled as Kato morphed between a green tree snake and a monkey only to flit into a dog and bark at the wildlife.  Titus had darted about throwing suggestions and criticism like only an older sibling could.

The heavy rain created flashfloods and landslides.  Eight went missing in the initial chaos, three were found almost immediately after they had regrouped.  Their guide had dragged them back to the visitor’s center where Bobby and Marah found themselves alone.  He had been so sure Katelyn had been next to him, but in the initial chaos she had run after the kids, Varro soaked and clutched to her chest as she stumbled though the underbrush.  It had only taken a second, and then he had lost sight of her completely.

In a daze, Bobby allowed himself to be led to a side room, hand fisting in Marah’s fur as he took a seat in the pastel blue chair.  Moments later a teenage boy and an elderly lady joined him.  The boy had a haunted look in his eyes, his cat dæmon sitting listlessly in his lap as the boy dried her with a towel.  His movements were mechanical, as if he was not consciously aware of what he was doing.  The old lady just sat alone, fingers twitching occasionally as her badger dæmon lay beneath her chair.

It was in the early hours of the morning when several Venezuelan officials came with news and the elderly woman was guided out of the room in tears, her badger following behind at a sedate pace, grey muzzle pressed to the floor.  Marah whined pitifully at the badger, but the dæmon did not look up as he trailed after his human.

A few hours later two more officials came in.  They separated at the door, one heading for the child and the other for him.  Marah cowered against Bobby’s leg as the man told him about the bodies that had washed up near a village, Katelyn among them.  Marah wailed as Bobby sat there in silence, shock settling over him.  She drowned, he told them.  I’m sorry for your loss, they consoled.

The boy left the room an orphan, cat dæmon clutched to his chest as if it were going to disappear if he loosened his hold.  Alone, Bobby and Marah waited for news of the children.  Harriett and Titus were found the following day, screaming hysterically as they learned of their mother’s passing.  They would wait a lot longer to hear of John and Kato.

One day slid into the next, Bobby and Harriett waiting by the phone of their condo as they waited for news.  One week slid into two as they packed Katelyn’s things to be shipped back home, the condo quiet as the television drowned out the silence left in her wake.  One month slid into the next when the phone finally rang and Bobby wept in joy for the first time.

The Venezuelans had given up on the child.  The Amazon Jungle killed older, stronger, and wiser men, and the Watson boy was only eight.  But somehow, against all odds, the boy and his dæmon survived.

Looking at them now, Bobby and Marah debated this fact with a heavy heart.  John and Kato may have survived the jungle, but not all of them came back from it.  Something was missing from the both of them, and it left the boys a little less.

The reunion was heartfelt and full of tears and surprises.  John greeted them with wide haunted eyes as Bobby grabbed him up into a hug that Harriett tried to weasel in between before he enveloped both of them.  But when Marah went to greet Kato, the young dæmon shifted into a large brown Doberman, baring his teeth as a low rumbling growl filled the room.  Marah tucked her tail underneath her belly and her head dropped as she whined pitifully, shuffling back to her human as Kato stood guard over the sickly thin boy.

Bobby quit his job, becoming a stay at home dad that soon turned into a stay at home drunk.  He drank to forget Katelyn and how she looked as he identified her body, pale blue and bloated from the water.  He drank to forget that horrible desperate feeling as they waited of news for his son.  He drank to forget that the son he got back was not the one that had left.  Mostly he just drank because he could.

The company gave him a large severance package, enough to set them for years.  In exchange he never talked about what had happened in Venezuela.  It was not until much later that he learned that the company had never even bothered to file a report.  It was as if it never happened, would not want to look bad after all.  After much deliberation, the plans for Venezuela’s new railroad system was scrapped all together.  Bobby drank to forget that as well.

John and Kato never talked about what had happened to them in the jungle, but then again the never talked about much of anything to anyone anymore.  Spoken only when spoken too, John became a distant child, hiding in his room or running about into the small wooded area near the house.  Kato rarely changed forms, choosing to hold a single shape for months.  When he did shift it was always into a predator.  Kato became John’s protector, standing away from other dæmons, even family.

Their great aunt Judith called it post-traumatic stress disorder.  With a minor in child psychology, she visited them often throughout the following years keeping the whole incident within the family in order to leave them their privacy.  She told Bobby that one day it would get better.  John would work through it, kids always bounced back, he just needed time.  And it did get better to an extent.

John became more carefree and Kato began to let other dæmons approach him once more.  It was not the same, John and Kato would never be as innocent as they once were before becoming lost in that jungle.  But they were recovering, bit by bit.  And Bobby continued to drink.

Kato settled when they were ten and no one inside the family was surprised that he took the form of a predator.  They were mostly surprised that it was not a dog or anything in the canine family.  Instead he took the form of a feline.  The only thing that startled Bobby and Marah was that it was such a small feline.

A clouded leopard, the smallest of all the big cats, less than two feet at the shoulder.  Kato was smaller than even Marah.  He was short and stocky, with overly large paws that Bobby knew served some sort of function but made Kato look like a cub that was still growing.

Although cute, Kato _was_ a predator.  It became more obvious when he walked.  His body seemed to flow silently across the floor, the furred paws muffling the sounds of his steps.  The claws were curved and sharp, just over and inch and half long.  The eyeteeth were nearly three inches in length, the skull to tooth ratio larger than any other living animal.  A sabretooth some called it, the last of the sabretooth cats in all of creation.

He gained a lot of attention in class when it was discovered that he had settled.  The children’s dæmons fawned over his exotic and cute form.  Kato was polite, but he did not appreciate the attention.

When John and Kato were twelve, Harriett and Titus dropped out of school.  Bobby did not notice, he did not notice a lot anymore.  Harriett drank like her father and moved in with her girlfriend.  John and Kato were left alone to deal with their family that was slowly but surely falling apart.  Bobby rarely left the house anymore and Marah could be found most days staring listlessly into the fire place, eyes glazed as her human drank himself from one drunken stupor to the next.

When John and Kato were thirteen, they lied about their age and got a job at the grocer’s two towns over.  The money they got was just enough to keep the important bills paid and the employee discount helped with the food.  It was not a lot, but John did not need much, and Bobby drank more than he ate.

On their sixteenth birthday, John forged his father’s signature and left to study medicine at King’s College in London.  Later he joined the military and trained at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital.  After John and Kato left, Bobby and Marah were truly and utterly alone.  Bobby drank to forget that as well.


	2. Adelyn Holmes and Lysander

Adelyn never intended to grow away from her children…she had never intended for a lot of things.  But life got in the way of want, and duty came before love.  Mycroft was always a precocious and distant child.  He had little want or need for affection and instead sought to better his mind.  Her son was terribly smart and his dæmon was prideful and distant.  Even though considered a genius and once a child prodigy herself, neither she nor Lysander could keep up with their intellect.

Her husband was a wealthy man from an affluent family.  His name was worth more than their estate.  There was no doubt in her mind or others that she and her husband loved their children, and she knew her children loved them, but their relationship was lacking.  Adelyn could not be there for her children as she wanted to be, being as she was the wife of a prominent and illustrious old English family and had duties.  The obligations _to_ her family left a surprisingly small amount of time _for_ her family.

As the son of a Duke, her husband Charleston and his lynx dæmon Idola, had responsibilities that could not be denied.  Though the title would pass on to his oldest brother, until the time in which his brother received the designation there was still certain duties that were expected of him. 

By the time Mycroft was six he was almost completely self-sufficient.  No longer in need of nannies and babysitters, he had little use for a loose parental figure such as herself, and no use at all for a frequently absent one such as his father.  And Sherlock, well, he had Mycroft.

When her son was ten, Adelyn bore his brother into their lives.  Sherlock was a difficult child, even the birthing was a nightmare.  He was born late and there had been so many complications that Adelyn was denied the epidural.  It was a painful and long process as Sherlock did not come easily into the world and the years that followed were no easier.

Always the busy woman, Adelyn left Sherlock and Atalanta in the capable hands of the same nanny that raised Mycroft and his dæmon.  It had become obvious fairly quickly that Sherlock would not tolerate such an arrangement.  He was a fussy baby, his dæmon taking on forms that allowed for truly astonishing vocal levels.  They had hated their nanny and her beagle dæmon.  So it came as surprise to Adelyn when ten year-old Mycroft and Erimentha took to raising Sherlock and his extravagant dæmon and the fussing decreased to almost nonexistent.

Atalanta was an odd dæmon, to put it lightly.  She loved taking on exotic, extinct, and mythical shape and Sherlock did nothing to dissuade her.  Erimentha gazed upon the change with disdain, her voice haughty and short as she explained to Atalanta that it was a sign of mental retardation.  Sherlock would sneer and Atalanta would scoff and tell Mycroft to stuff it before shifting into a small dragon or griffon to chase the raven around the property.

Adelyn thought it curious that Atalanta addressed Mycroft just as often as Sherlock engaged Erimentha.  She often heard her eldest explaining that it was improper and then her youngest would comment disdainfully and ignore him completely.  Though never done in polite society, she did not think long upon it as she knew that her youngest adored his brother.

Sherlock and Atalanta followed Mycroft and his white-necked raven dæmon like two little ducklings.  Mycroft was patient and his dæmon was stern.  Together they raised the two and Adelyn could not have been more proud.

When Sherlock and Atalanta were eight, Mycroft and Erimentha left for college.  The youngest Holmes never forgave them for that.  Sherlock became distant and Atalanta began to take shapes small enough for her human to carry, the constant physical contact a comfort.

Although they had drastically different childhoods, Adelyn thought Atalanta was much like her Lysander in a way and would take after him and settle as a squirrel or chipmunk.  Instead she settled as an arctic fox, a predator to Lysander’s Red Squirrel.  But of course it could not be just any arctic fox.  Atalanta was special, and she portrayed that in every way, even one such as settling.  She settled in the winter coat, white as snow with the slate blue variant under fur.  In certain lighting, she appeared glacial blue. 

That particular color variant had not been seen since the early 1900s.  Trappers had over hunted for their beautiful and rare pelts and those that still roamed lived in Panserbjørn territory and the bears were unforgiving of hunters on their lands.  Adelyn thought she was perfect.

Atalanta was an odd character and Adelyn first noticed Atalanta’s curious mannerisms when she and Sherlock were fairly young.  She had been away for nearly a month on a business trip, which was not unusual at all.  Yule was just days away when she returned and pulled a scowling Sherlock into her embrace.  Lysander scurried down her arm to the floor, tail twitching in excitement as he darted to Atalanta who had been unsettled at the time.  The little squirrel had not even gotten close enough to touch noses before Atalanta turned away in disinterest and fluttered onto Sherlock’s sleeve as small moth.

Looking back upon it, Lysander and her could not recall a time where Atalanta had initiated physical contact with any dæmon.  The family was allowed certain allowances when it came to contact.  Atalanta seemed to exude disinterest but tolerated when Lysander pet her fur or when Erimentha pecked at her.  She even endured Idola’s grooming when she was forced to.  As they got older, they tolerated it less and less until Atalanta seemed to tolerate it not at all.

It made them worry but Adelyn never pursued the issue.  Later, when both her sons were older, she would regret that decision.  But at that moment, she had been comforted by the knowledge that Sherlock was closer to Mycroft then herself and thought that perhaps they were just getting to old for such affectionate gestures from parents. 

Once, on a rainy day after a few too many glasses of Syrah, she had confronted Mycroft about Atalanta’s standoffish behavior.  Mycroft and Erimentha had been home for the summer and the house was tense as Sherlock sulked and threw insults at his older brother.  Her eldest son just blinked owlishly at her as Erimentha perched on his shoulder, head turned and eyes trained out the window, disinterested.  It was then that she realized the raven was much the same as she had never let Lysander close either and did not let other dæmons approach her and she approached no dæmons, Atalanta excluded.

Adelyn believed it was this unknowing neglect on her behalf that caused the emotional distance in her children.  But by the time she truly noticed a problem, Mycroft was nearly out of college and Sherlock was independent to the point of worry.

Soon after, her father-in-law passed and Charleston and she stepped out of the lime light.  They spent more time at home, forgoing the dinner parties and galas to spend time with their children.  Charleston was a simple man with simple needs, always with a smile and laugh.  Idola was much like him, overly affectionate and a purr constantly rumbling in her chest.  But their affection was met with cold stares and stiff backs as Mycroft and Sherlock were forced to get used to their presence in their day-to-day lives. 

Sherlock and Atalanta did not seem to know what to make of it.  Having spent much time alone they were baffled by the presence of their parents.  Mycroft seemed amused by it mostly.  Erimentha perched on his shoulder with a smug look of indifference upon her bird face as they watched their younger brother and his dæmon struggle to cope with the affection being forced upon them by both parents.

Adelyn was distraught to know that her youngest son struggled with the concept of love one bestows upon another.  His intellect was astounding, his knowledge vast, and yet the basics of emotions seemed to allude him.  Atalanta appeared to have a better handle on feelings and Lysander was both baffled and amused by the fox explaining sentiments to the boy.  Adelyn just felt sad by it.

She truly did love her children, her only regret was that she could never be the mother they needed.  Adelyn prayed that one day they would find that person that could take of them in the say she never could.

One could only hope.

 


	3. John and Kato

Kato came awake with a grunt of annoyance, ears flicking back and forth as his large eyes swept across the room.  Pressed against his human’s covered leg, the dæmon could feel John shifting in his sleep as his mind tortured him with memories since passed.  Long tail twitching in agitation, Kato came to his feet as John’s discomfort surged into him, amplifying his fight-or-flight response.

Large paws, seemingly disproportionate to his small stocky body, padded over the sheets his extended claws catching on the material.  Pressing his wet nose into John’s cheek, his human was pulled violently into the waking world.  Sitting up with a heaving gasp, Kato nearly tumbled from the bed, cursing softly as he tried to pull his claws from the comforter without shredding it.

John’s breath came quick and short as he scanned the barren room, hand blindly reaching for the rifle that was not there, sounds of gunfire and dying screams fading from his ears to be replaced by the fast but steady thump of his heart.  His attention was drawn to Kato’s muttered curses as he pulled one paw free and then the other.  Chuckling softly, John drew his unresisting dæmon into his lap while he wiped tears from his eyes. 

War took more than just lives.

Kato’s rumbling purr filled the room, claws kneading into John’s bare leg as dexterous fingers scratched into his spotted fur just so.  John knew there would be faint scratch marks in his thigh come morning, but he could not drag up enough will to care.  Drawing silent comfort from each other, there was no need for words as they sat together in the darkened room.  There would be no more sleeping that night.

~ x ~ Page Break ~ x ~

John felt much better after the shower and Kato walked with a little bounce as he crossed the room.  “Somebody is feeling chipper this morning,” he commented to his dæmon with a small frown.

“We’re going out today,” Kato replied quickly, voice filled with excitement.

“Just to the shrink’s office across the courtyard,” his voice was dry and held a note of derision as he sat at the small desk, leaning his cane against the chair.

“You shouldn’t call her that,” Kato replied sourly, extending his body so he could prop his paws onto the arm of the chair.  He liked the psychiatric appointments even less than his human.  “She doesn’t like it…and no, you promised that we would go to the park today.”

John made a noise of annoyance as he pulled his laptop from the drawer.  He _had_ promised, last week when his dæmon had become insistent on fresh air.  Honestly he had hoped Kato would have forgotten.

The screen turned on and he turned to his laptop to keep from saying anything he would regret.  The page for his blog filled the monitor, blank as the day he had started it nearly two months ago.  He rested his hands on the keys but no words came to him, just like yesterday and the day before that.  Snapping the lid closed in anger, he huffed silently as it would appear that it would remain blank for yet another day.

Pulling the drawer open he threw his laptop carelessly into it, the gun catching his eyes at the last moment.  Fingers ghosted over the cold metal as unbidden memories pushed against his mind and yanked at his sanity.

“John?” Kato’s voice was soft and full of sorrow as he shifted to rest a paw against the man’s knee.  John hummed distractedly, eyes drawn reluctantly to his dæmon, fingers still splayed on the weapon.  “Let’s go to the park today.”

~ x ~ Page Break ~ x ~

The urge to fidget nearly overcame him, but John fought down the reaction with ruthless militant efficiency.  Beside him on the floor, Kato did not even twitch.  He laid beside the chair, poised like the Sphynx in Egypt, calm, regal and attentive, but as still as the statue.  Looking at them, one would never suspect how unnerved they were by the stare of the therapist or her dæmon.

Edmur was a delicate looking thing, all long limbs and dainty frame.  His overly large ears were fixed forward, his eyes and frame of his face giving him more of a hunter look than Kato could achieve.  With a short muzzle, large eyes, and paws that appeared three sized to big, he seemed more kittenish than Edmur; but the caracal learned quickly that the much smaller cat’s deceptively cubbish appearance hid a dangerous and cunning predator.

“How’s your blog going?”

John glanced as Kato, but his dæmon appeared to be gazing out the window, oblivious to the mounting tension.  But John knew better.  Kato’s ear twitched minutely when Edmur stood and John cleared his throat as the other dæmon approached.  “Good,” he replied after a moment.  “Very good.”

The look she gave him was both unimpressed and disbelieving.  “You haven’t written a word, have you?”

He huffed in annoyance, part from the question and part from the emotions he was picking up from his dæmon.  Edmur had approached Kato slowly, like he had every time they had an appointment.  Stopping just shy of touching, the caracal stretched his nose forward in greeting.

“You just wrote ‘still has trust issues.’”

“And you read my writing upside down,” Ella countered as Edmur took the last step forward as Kato refused to meet him.  And just like every appointment before, the clouded leopard stood and walked around the back of the chair to rest on the other side, gracefully avoiding the other dæmon in a way that Ella was beginning to catalogue.  “See what I mean?”

The first few sessions she had not even noticed Kato’s lack of participation or even acknowledgement.  But John knew it was only a matter of time before she became aware of his dæmon’s lack of interest.  Like every time they met someone new, Kato tolerated the other dæmon long enough for introductions and passing curiosity, but after the first initial ‘get to know you’, he seemed to lose all interest.

Ever since that appointment when Ella and Edmur became aware of the personality quirk, they had been relentless in trying to get Kato to acknowledge the other dæmon.  John knew the way they acted was unusual and offsetting.  One appearing open and jovial, the other aloof and uninterested.  But they cared little for what others thought of them, because they had each other.

“John, you were soldiers, it’s gonna take a while to adjust to civilian life; and writing a blog about everything that happens will honestly help you two,” her eyes flicked to his dæmon quickly, just a polite glance that lasted no longer then society considered normal.  Even still, John felt a weight heavy in his chest.

“Nothing ever happens to us.”


	4. Greg and Danae

Greg & Danae

Greg shifted in the uncomfortable seat, fingers spayed together to halt the self-conscious twitching.  Beside him, Danae was the picture of professional decorum.  The Irish Wolfhound laid on the floor to the right of the table, exuding an air of practiced disinterest and yet appearing attentive, which was far more then could be said for Tharin.  Sally’s daemon was under the table, long ears twitching in annoyance and agitation.

A camera flash went off as the reporters murmured quietly together, their daemons weaving together as they exchanged pleasantries and theories.  Clearing her throat Detective Sergeant Donovan addressed the group while her European Hare daemon paced under the table.  “The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London.  Preliminary investigations suggest that this was a suicide.

“We can confirm that this apparent suicide resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore.  In light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked.  The investigation is ongoing, but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now.”

Just like that, the silence broke.  A flood of sound engulfed the room as reporters jockeyed to get their questions answered.  The noise level was beginning to give him a headache so Greg pointed at a young woman in the front, trying to restore order.

“Detectives Inspector, how can suicides be linked?”

Greg shuffled his papers around, briefly wishing he could have had a set speech like Donovan.  “Well, they all took the same poison.  Um…they were all found in places they had no reason to be.  None of them showed prior indication of-”

The same reporter interrupted him, impatiently brushing her short blonde hair from her eyes as she stood from her seat.  “But you can’t have serial suicide!” Her voice was loud enough to carry out into the hall, turning several heads to the conference room.

“Well, apparently you can,” Lestrade argued back, teeth grinding as Danae swiveled her attention, ears upright and poised as she stared down the woman’s small magpie daemon.  The reporter retook her seat and said not another word.

“These three people…” another journalist began, breaking the tension that had risen in the room.  “There’s nothing that links them?”

“There’s no link been found _yet_ , but we’re looking for it.  There has to be one,” Lestrade and every other person in the room reached for their mobiles as they trilled and chirped with text alert.  The text left Greg annoyed and strangely impressed.

Donovan nearly threw her phone down as Tharin became absolutely still.  Danae looked over in concern, neck outstretched as she lightly touched the hare with her nose.  At the contact, Tharin relaxed, ears twitching, and Donovan’s hand unclenched.  “If you’ve got texts please ignore them.”

“Just says ‘Wrong’.”

“Yeah, well, just ignore that,” Sally did not quite snap at the balding man.  “Okay, if there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade, I’m going to bring this session to an end.”

“But if they’re suicides,” another interrupted before the two detectives could beat a hasty retreat.  “What are you investigating?”

“As I said,” Lestrade began and Danae lifted her head to lay it across her human’s lap.  Greg felt the agitation leech out of him and he continued in a much calmer tone.  “These suicides are _clearly_ linked.  It’s an…unusual situation.  We’ve got our best people investigating-”

The room was filled with the sounds of buzzing and chirping.  Neither Greg nor Sally reached for their phones.  “Says ‘Wrong’ again.”

Eyes sliding to the left, he gave Sally a desperate, pleading look and she felt Tharin climb into her lap.  “One more question.”

An elder man near the back stood and Donovan acknowledged him with a nod.  “Is there any chance that these are murders?  And if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?”

What followed felt like a three ringed circus.  His semi not-answer was followed by a question.  Greg socially blundered and spent the next minute trying to back track before the text alerts drowned out the response.  When his mobile buzzed after everyone else, he grabbed it while Donovan wrapped up the interview.

_You know where to find me._

_SH_

*                      *                      *                      *                      *

“You’ve got to stop him doing that,” Sally told him, annoyance and underlying anger coloring her tone.  She walked as if affronted, steps short and quick, curly hair bouncing with every step she took.  The up button for the elevator could have cracked with how hard she pressed it and Greg winced at the sound.  They entered the fully packed elevator and ascended in almost silence as she fumed.  Seconds after the door opened, she continued her rant.  “He’s making us look like idiots.”

Danae trotted over to Tharin, nudging him as they exited the elevator and walked through the offices of Scotland Yard.  Greg saw Donovan deflate some as Tharin bounced around the Irish Wolfhound’s long legs.

“If you can tell me how he does it, I’ll stop him,” he replied diplomatically.  They paused at the threshold of his office and Sally sighed before she angrily stomped to her desk.  Danae and Tharin briefly touched noses before the hare departed after his human before she had gone too far.

They stood there a moment longer, watching as Sally started to aggressively type her report and Tharin supervise from his perch on her desk; Greg could hear her keyboard nearly fifteen feet away as she pounded on the keys.  “It was rather impressive,” Danae commented as they made their way into the office.  Greg hummed in a questioning tone as he hung up his coat.  “The text messages,” Danae elaborated, settling into the large dog bed by the desk.

“That man is infuriating,” Greg replied, not quite collapsing into his chair as he ruffled through the case file of the last suicide.

“Doesn’t mean you weren’t impressed,” Danae countered.  Greg turned to her and fixed her with a glare.  His daemon met it with her own steady gaze and the detective soon turned away in defeat.  She was right, of course.  “So…are we going?”

“Going where?”

Danae let out an undignified huff.  “Don’t play dumb, Greg.  Are we going to get Sherlock and Atalanta?”

“I thought you didn’t like her,” he commented, booting up his laptop while he scratched the back of his head.  He had more gray hair every time he looked in the mirror.  This job was making him old.

“I don’t even know her,” she replied, laying her head on her giant paws as she gazed out of the office door.  “We’ve known them for four years, Greg, and in all that time Atalanta has only talked to me once.”

“Really?!” Greg was truly surprised and yet at the same time, he was not.  Danae was an intimidating daemon, with her size and all, nearly six feet nose to tail and standing almost four feet to the shoulder.  Most daemons were apprehensive until they got to know her; Danae had a gentle heart and a kind disposition.  But Sherlock’s daemon was just plain odd, and Greg did not believe for one second that Atalanta was even remotely intimidated by Danae.  “What did she say?”

Danae turned to him, amusement and annoyance coloring her tone as she answered.  “ _Don’t be stupid._ ”

Greg was not surprised at all.


	5. Mike Stamford and Asta

Mike hummed in amusement as his daemon complained in a dramatic fashion.  “I’m telling you, Mike, that man is insane! Insane, do you hear me!”

“You’re just upset his daemon wouldn’t greet you,” he replied, trying not to laugh.

The raccoon’s fur puffed up as she stood on her hind legs, making her look both taller and fatter.  “She didn’t even _look_ at me!” Asta wailed, seeming to wilt and collapse on the park bench.  “She never looks at me.”

Mike reached over and ruffled her fur as she pouted while he reconsidered his life choices.  Maybe he should have gone into acting; he had never met another daemon quite as theatrical and melodramatic as his own.  “She never looks at anyone,” he replied, fingers gliding down her back.  “You know how they are, dear heart.  Try not to take it personally.”

“It’s not normal,” she mumbled, shuffling around on the bench as she wiped her muzzle with her tiny paws.  If she was human, the gesture would have resembled one wiping away tears.  “You think it’s true, what Kor and Tommy said?”

“I don’t know, what did Tommy and Kor say?”

“That they’re sociop-hey!” Asta perked up, cutting her sentence off as she looked down the path in the park.  “Mike, Mike, look! Isn’t that Kato and John?”

Mike turned and he felt a smile break across his face at the sight of his old classmate.  There was no mistaking John’s daemon for any other, a strange curiosity for a man who was as normal and laid back as any he had ever known.  “John, John Watson!” He saw the man pause and turn to them.  Mike heaved himself from the bench and Asta bounded after him as he made his way over.  “Stamford, Mike Stamford,” he supplied as John gave him a confused look.  “We were at Bart’s together.”

Recognition lit up his face and John smiled as he took Mike’s offered hand to shake it.  “Yes, sorry, Mike.  Hello, hi.”

Mike grinned, releasing his hand as he gestured to himself.  “Yeah, I know.  I got fat!”

“No,” John almost sounded convincing, but he fell just shy and Mike could not help but laugh.  John had always been a polite standup guy.  Asta made her way back to his side as she had finished greeting Kato.  Mike had thought she would stay to catch up, but it was obvious that they were already done conversing.

He tried not to stare at Kato, eyes only flickering to the daemon as he paced back to his human’s side, but it was difficult.  John’s daemon was exotic and - though he would never state it out loud - adorable.  The fact that he also defied gender norm was also hard to ignore, but Mike was able to pull his attention back to John and tried to ignore the way the clouded leopard moved every time Asta did.  Kato shifted so he had a direct opening to her at all times, as if he was waiting for a signal to attack.  It was at odds with the way John stood, relaxed and seemingly at ease.

“I heard you were abroad somewhere getting shot at.  What happened?”  He questioned, words escaping him before he could censor them.

“I got shot,” John replied awkwardly.  Mike spared a glance at Asta, her look plainly stating, ‘open mouth, insert foot.’

Mind groping for anything to break the embarrassed silence, his eyes fell on the little stand at the edge of the park.  “Coffee?”

*                      *                      *                      *                      *

Asta sat on the furthest end of the bench, pressed between the side arm and human’s thigh.  She was sulking, and aside from the hand resting comfortingly on her back, Mike was ignoring her.  John and Kato had always been an odd pair, and he remembered how Asta would bemoan about Kato’s stand-offish ways.  The clouded leopard had always been polite, but he rarely interacted with other daemons and fighting in a war clearly had not changed that.  Now only if Asta would stop whining about it.

Taking a sip of the rather delicious coffee, Mike let his eyes discreetly slide over to his companion.  John looked thinner than when he had last seen him, corners of his mouth drawn down and eyes pinched as if he was weary.  Hair shorter, cut in a militaristic fashion, tan from being overseas, and a cane from being shot.

John relied on the cane heavily, putting most of his weight on the sturdy metal device.  Mike could see the other man’s hand shake as he drank his own coffee, and he tried hard to smother the look of worry as John turned to him.  Luckily the other man did not seem to notice, or if he did, he was very good at pretending he had not.

“Are you still at Bart’s then?”

Mike smiled softly, this was a safe topic at least.  “Teaching now,” he replied, fingers gliding through Asta’s fur.  Kato was very still, perched delicately on the back of the park bench, eyes wide as he took in their surroundings.  “Bright young things, like we used to be.  God I hate them!”

They both laughed loudly, taking a moment to remember when they were students themselves.  “What about you?” Mike asked after a minute or so of silence.  “Just staying in town ‘til you get yourself sorted?”

“I can’t afford London on an Army pension,” John told him honestly, shoulders tight.  His daemon made an odd chuffing noise and John seemed to relax a little.

“Ah,” Mike hummed in understanding.  “And you couldn’t bear to be anywhere else.  That’s not the John Watson I know.”

“Yeah, I’m not the John Watson-” he cut himself off, shifting uncomfortably.  Mike took another sip of his coffee, trying not to notice as John’s left hand shook with a tremor.

“Couldn’t Harry help?”

John glanced at him, surprised that Mike remembered his sibling.  His throat burned as he replied bitterly, “Yeah, like that’s gonna happen!”

“I dunno,” he shrugged, cradling his foam cup to warm his fingers.  The weather was surprisingly chilly for the time of year.  “Maybe get a flatshare or something?”

“Come on,” John bit out, smiling ruefully.  “Who’d want _me_ for a flatmate?” Mike chuckled at the coincidence.  “What?” John asked cautiously.

“Well, you’re the second person to say that to me today.”

The look John shot him was both curious and hopeful.  “Who was the first?”


	6. Molly and Nero

Molly felt a flutter in her stomach as Sherlock approached the body bag on the examination table.  Atalanta sat regally at the foot of the table, seemingly disinterested as her human opened the bag and began studying the body.  Nero sighed quietly in her ear and Molly silently shared his sentiments.

“She’s so pretty,” Nero mumbled softly.  Molly nodded in agreement, but she was not looking at the daemon.  “Her fur is so white…it looks really soft.  Do you think-”

“How fresh?” Sherlock’s authoritative voice drowned out the rest of the tiny daemon’s sentence and it took Molly a moment to drag her attention back to the matter at hand.

“Just in,” she replied, moving over to the table as the man sniffed the corpse.  “Sixty-seven, natural causes…” she trailed off as Nero darted down her arm and onto the table.  The tiny gecko made its way over to the other daemon while being careful to stay clear of the humans, both Sherlock and the corpse.

There is no law forbidding a daemon from touching a deceased corpse, it was in fact quite common in law enforcement.  Sometimes a canine daemon will sniff or lick a corpse in order to gather more evidence and there were no repercussions as it did not have the same effect it would have had the human been alive.  However, it was only done out of necessity and Nero avoided touching the corpse out of respect.

“He used to work here,” Molly continued after a moment, tucking a stray hair back as she gazed at Sherlock in admiration.  The man truly was gorgeous.  “I knew him, he was nice.”

The sound of the zipper was loud in the quiet morgue as Sherlock sealed the bag up.  Straightening, he turned to her and Molly felt her heart jump.  “Fine, we’ll start with the riding crop.”

~ x ~ Page Break ~ x ~

The crack of the riding crop striking flesh was loud and made her flinch even from the observation room.  It was hard not to admire him, even when he was violently flogging a corpse.  Nero watched sadly from her shoulder and she brought a hand up and stroked her fingertips along his spine.

“It will be alright, Nero,” Molly told him softly in a comforting tone.  It was hard though, when she desired the man so, and yet his daemon could not be more disinterested and cold if she had tried.  Atalanta made it seem so effortless, the way she ignored Nero and every other daemon they met.

She could not help but think though, that maybe, just maybe, if Nero somehow got the fox daemon’s attention, then she would have a chance.  It had not happened yet, but they both had hope.

The loud cracking finally stopped and Molly took in the sight of him.  Sherlock stood over the body, hair in disarray, panting, and a wild look in his eyes.  It made something deep in her gut clench pleasantly and she pulled Nero from her shoulder and cupped him in her hands as she held him up to her face.

“How do I look?”

“You look great,” Nero told her, leaning forward to press his tiny hands to her cheeks.  She giggled at the sensation and returned him to his customary position before exiting the room and approaching the seemingly unapproachable man.

“So, bad day was it?” She joked, but it fell short as the man did not even acknowledge her attempt at playful banter.

Writing vigorously in his notebook, Sherlock did not even look up when he addressed her.  “I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes.  A man’s alibi depends on it. Text me.”

“Listen,” Molly began as he grabbed his coat and his daemon hopped off the table to follow him.  “I was wondering…maybe later, when your finished-”

“Are you wearing lipstick?” He cut her off, frowning.  “You weren’t wearing lipstick before.”

“I, er…” she started nervously before she steeled her nerves and smiled at him flirtatiously.  “I refreshed it a bit.”

Sherlock looked at her for a long minute and Molly felt her cheeks grow hot from the scrutiny.  There was a long moment as Molly waited for him to speak, to say anything.  After several long seconds where she thought her heart was going to bust out of her ribcage, he blinked, turning back to his notebook and jotted something down before he snapped it shut and returned his attention back to her.

“Sorry, you were saying?” His tone was anything but apologetic.

Undeterred by how bored he sounded she gazed into his gorgeous blue eyes and tried again.  “I was wondering if you’d like to have coffee.”

“Black, two sugars,” he replied, tucking his notebook away as he sauntered to the door, his daemon trotting next to him.  “I’ll be upstairs.”

“…okay…” hidden by her collar, Nero slapped his hand to his face and sighed.


	7. Sherlock and Atalanta

The quiet hum in the lab was broken only by the sounds of Sherlock working diligently at the far end of the table.  Adjusting the magnification on the microscope, he examined the petri dish while Atalanta watched him work.  She spared a glance at the door as Mike entered the underground lab with a plain looking man following.

“Well, a bit different in my day,” the plain looking man stated, limping around the table as he took in the equipment.  Sherlock glanced up from examining the culture before losing interest quickly.

Military type, probably a dog daemon, loyal.  Just returned from overseas, familiar with the room, but not the equipment.  Old medical student, an army doctor then, retired early because of injury.  Boring.

Atalanta huffed in annoyance as Asta climbed onto the table, knocking over equipment and trying to gain her attention.  Turning away in disinterest, she made her way over to Sherlock where he sat upon one of the stools and started to jot down his observations.  “Mike, can I borrow your phone? There’s no signal on mine.”

“And what’s wrong with the landline?” Mike asked, patting his pockets.

“I prefer to text.”

“Sorry,” he replied as his daemon gave up on trying to get Atalanta to acknowledge her.  “It’s in my coat.”

The ex-army doctor pulled a mobile out of his back pocket, holding it out to him.  “Er, here…use mine.”

“Oh,” Sherlock replied, surprised and yet not at the gesture.  The man seemed the sort to help someone out just because he could.  “Thank you.”

Glancing over at Mike’s smug look, Sherlock stood gracefully; posture straight, as he approached the shorter man.  Atalanta easily maneuvered around and over the delicate equipment and chemicals.  Sherlock felt her surprise as she perched at the end of the table to examine the man’s daemon.

“It’s an old friend of mine, John Watson and Kato,” Mike supplied as the consulting detective accepted the phone, quickly glancing to the floor as he turned.  Societal norms dictated the unspoken law of scrutinizing another’s daemon.  In layman’s terms, it was rude to stare.  Most considered it taboo, though it was not actually illegal.  Thankfully, Sherlock only needed a second.  The doctor’s daemon was not a dog after all, but was in fact a Neofelis Nebulosa, commonly known as a clouded leopard.  Interesting.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” Sherlock asked quickly, examining the phone and drawing ‘John’s’ attention away from Atalanta’s scrutiny of his daemon.  Societal norms would not let him examine another’s daemons; there is nothing against daemons scrutinizing each other.  It is considered rude, but not taboo.

The man’s daemon seemed curious, large gold eyes examining the arctic fox, not at all bothered by the attention.  After it became apparent that Atalanta would not be introducing herself, the clouded leopard turned away, stalking around the room and sniffing various equipment.

Doubly interesting.

“Sorry?” John asked, seemingly oblivious to the daemons strange interaction.  It was a common reaction then.

Fingers flying over the small keyboard, Sherlock briefly took in his curious but not offended expression.  “Which was it: Afghanistan or Iraq?” Atalanta snapped, looking at the soldier like he had done something monumentally stupid.

John looked briefly surprised to be addressed openly by someone else’s daemon, but he recovered quickly, unlike Mike and Asta who looked affronted.  Preposterous really, it was not like Atalanta had spoken to Mike, or worse Sherlock addressing Asta. 

“Afghanistan,” John replied, speaking to the daemon directly and seeming unbothered by it.  Mike and Asta’s expressions went from affronted to downright horrified.

Sherlock glanced at his daemon as he snapped the phone shut.  Atalanta was looking back, approval written in her smug expression.  It seemed John was not so plain after all.

“Sorry,” John began, eyes darting between the man and daemon; unsure as to whom he was supposed to be speaking with.  It was not a situation one usually finds himself in.  “How did you know-”

“Ah, Molly,” Sherlock interrupted as the pathologist entered the room.  He thanked her as she handed him the steaming mug of coffee.  Reaching, he handed John his mobile while accepting the mug and examining the young woman over the rim.  “What happened to the lipstick?”

“It wasn’t working for me,” Molly replied, trying to smile flirtatiously but it ended up just looking awkward instead.

“Really?” He sounded surprised, walking back to the microscope.  “I thought it was a big improvement.”

“Your mouth’s too small now,” Atalanta informed her and Molly flushed crimson, visibly fighting not to look at the daemon as she fidgeted uncomfortably.  It was considered rude to do more than glance at another’s daemon, ruder still to talk to one that was not your own or your significant other’s.  Even then there were rules and protocols, tedious things neither he nor Atalanta paid much mind too.  John seemed to be of the same mindset because he was looking directly at Sherlock’s daemon and giving her a pointed look.  His expression clearly stating he thought she was being impolite.

Sherlock bent over his notebook, hiding a smile as Atalanta and John had there stare-off.  Mike looked pale from where he was standing, trying hard not to look at the two but unable to look away.  The door clicked softly shut as Molly quickly left and Sherlock glanced down as movement caught his eye.  The clouded leopard had made its way around the room and now stood several paces away, studying him intently.  A thrill raced down his spine, never before had he been scrutinized by another’s daemon.

The feline moved closer as Sherlock turned back to his notes and started to add the last few observations.  Kato moved with no limp, contradicting John’s own need for the cane.  Psychosomatic then, but they already knew that.  Stopping just shy of a foot, the leopard stretched up on its hind legs, front paws tucked to its chest and tail out for balance as it examined the table without touching it.  Sherlock silently approved as he glanced over at the mess the raccoon had made.

“How do you feel about the violin?” Sherlock asked as the clouded leopard sat regally on the floor, tail flicking in a disinterested sort of way.

John broke his stare with Atalanta, gazing at Sherlock in confusion, but it was not he who answered.  “We don’t feel one way or the other,” a distinctly male voice replied and Sherlock turned to John’s daemon, John’s _male_ daemon.  Sherlock fully retracted his earlier judgment of boring.

“Kato!” The raccoon hissed, jumping onto the floor as she scolded the younger daemon.  “Don’t speak to him!”

“Why not?” Kato asked, ear flicking as he turned large golden eyes to Asta.

“Because,” she spluttered.  “It’s…it’s just not done!  It’s rude!”

“Oh, don’t be boring, Asta,” Atalanta admonished her.

“Don’t be-”

“Why?” Kato cut Asta off in the beginnings of what could have been an epic rant.  He turned back to the Sherlock, looking up at him as Atalanta trotted back over.  At his questioning hum, Kato clarified.  “The violin, why did you ask?”

“I play the violin when I’m thinking, sometimes we don’t talk for days on end, Atalanta rarely interacts with anyone.  Would that bother you?” He asked the rather calm looking John Watson as the other man studied him.  “Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.”

John blinked owlishly at him before turning his befuddled gaze to Mike, who was trying desperately to look unbothered as they not only breached human/daemon etiquette but ignored it all together.  “You…uh, told him about us?”

“Not a word,” Mike replied awkwardly.

The ex-army doctor then turned to back to him, curious and defensive.  Sherlock wondered which would win out.  “Who said anything about flatmates?” Curiosity it was then, Sherlock was not disappointed.

“I did,” the detective replied, pulling his coat on and grabbing the blue scarf.  “Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for.  Now here he is, just after lunch, with an old friend – clearly just home from the military service in Afghanistan.  Wasn’t that difficult of a leap.”

“How _did_ you know about Afghanistan?” Kato inquired of him as he moved back to his human.  Now would have been a good time to reestablish etiquette; daemon to daemon, human to human.  Sherlock was silently pleased that they had not even bothered.

Atalanta turned to Sherlock, bored with the turn the conversation took.  Grabbing his own mobile and checking for a signal, the detective continued as if no one had spoken at all.  “We’ve got our eye on a nice little place in central London.  Together we ought to be able to afford it.”

John shifted back, left hand trembling as Sherlock and Atalanta approached them.  Dropping from the table, the detective thought the daemon, Kato, would approach the fox for proper introductions, but he did not.  Both Sherlock and Atalanta were unsure if they were pleased by this or disappointed.  Instead, he acknowledged that it left them feeling unsettled.  Moving to the door, Sherlock sent a mental note in his mind palace to examine the duel sensations on a later date.

“We’ll meet there tomorrow evening, seven o’clock.  Sorry, gotta dash…I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary.” Pushing past John, he purposefully walked closer to the man’s daemon then common etiquette dictated to study the reaction.  He was pleased to note that there was not one, neither from John nor Kato.  The clouded leopard did not even move to create more space, even though he was inches away from brushing against the feline.  A most curious response.

“Is that it?” John’s question halted them before the door.

Turning his collar up, Sherlock shifted to face them.  “Is that what?”

“We’ve only just met and we’re gonna go and look at a flat?”

“Problem?” Atalanta inquired smugly.

John’s blue-grey eyes flicked to her, but he addressed Sherlock when he spoke.  “We don’t even know a thing about each other.  I don’t know where we are meeting…we don’t even know your names.”

Sherlock studied them intently, eyes darting between man and daemon as the endured the scrutiny as only soldiers can: unflinching and unyielding.  “I know you’re an army doctor,” Sherlock began, tone smug as Atalanta stood taller, tail flicking in a haughty way.  “And you’ve been invalided home from Afghanistan.  I know you’ve got a brother who’s worried about you, but you won’t go to him for help because you don’t approve of him – possibly because he’s an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife.  And I know your therapist thinks your limp’s psychosomatic – quite correctly, I’m afraid.”

John shuffled awkwardly, glancing at his leg and cane before looking at his daemon.  Kato gave him a reassuring look as he rubbed gently against the man’s calf.  Sherlock gave him a grin that was not humble in the least.  “That’s enough to go with, don’t you think?”  Grabbing the door handle, Atalanta sauntered out of the room when he opened it.

Turning back to the stunned pair, Sherlock self-righteously leaned against the door.  “The names Sherlock Holmes and Atalanta, and the address is 221 B Baker Street,” winking at them as he bid Mike goodbye and let the door click shut behind him, chuckling softly as Atalanta pranced beside him.  He had the feeling that this was the start of something amazing.


End file.
